


The Surrender

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Enhances original, First Age, Plot - Bittersweet, Plot - Good pacing, Poetry, Writing - Engaging style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorthonion, later years of exile: Gorlim the Unhappy, unwilling to die without Eilinel, hopelessly calls to her to join him so they can find the only peace obtainable in a land of constant war -- death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

A mound of downy heather is waiting on a hill  
Where we might lie together when all the world is still,  
And autumn finds the evening, and starlight finds the stones  
That witnessed Beren's grieving and guard his father's bones.

The whin has withered over, the grass is burned and bleak,  
But whispers haunt the clover; the silver birches speak.  
Though no one's there to hear them or teach them how to sing,  
The dreams we once had near them still to their branches cling.

And where the leafless alders, like cavalry, embark  
To charge their catkin antlers against the roaring dark,  
Though night was never fiercer, it only takes a sigh  
To break the water's mirror and tear the fragile sky.

In time the fickle seasons recycle age and youth;  
Both night and day are treasons against each other's truth;  
Eternal wars are rending a world no one can win;  
And where there are no endings, no stories can begin.

So rest you here beside me, and vex the King no more.  
His pawns are captured idly and scattered on the floor  
To neither strive nor suffer, but slumber at his feet  
And let the Land, our mother, cocoon us in the peat.

A mound of downy heather is waiting on a hill  
Where we might lie together and let the world be still.  
When autumn finds the evening, come join me on the stones—  
The earth will hear our grieving and claim our weary bones.  



End file.
